My anger melted, replaced by a sharp ache in my chest. “Oh, Tom…” I whispered, barely holding it together. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Tom wasn’t a cheater.
He was a hero. A quiet, humble, selfless hero who had poured his heart into making a lonely little girl feel seen and loved. My anger had melted away, replaced by something else—an ache so deep it was almost unbearable.
But as Tom shared more about Lila’s situation, my heart shattered all over again. “She’s getting discharged soon,” he said, his voice breaking. “Back to her foster family.
They barely visit her, Sarah. I don’t even think they care.”
Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them. “That’s not fair,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“She deserves more than that.”
Tom looked at me, his eyes filled with pain. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure out what I can do, but—”
“Tom,” I interrupted, my heart racing, “can we… can we bring her home?
Can we be her family?”
His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at me, as if he didn’t believe what he’d heard. Then, in an instant, he pulled me into the tightest hug of my life. “Do you mean it?” he asked, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
“Do you really mean it, Sarah?”
I nodded, tears soaking my cheeks. “Yes. I mean it.
Let’s bring her home.”
That night, we didn’t sleep. We stayed up talking, making plans, and Googling adoption processes. By dawn, we were contacting social workers, determined to fight for Lila.
The road wasn’t easy. Months of paperwork, interviews, and emotional highs and lows tested us, but the day we brought Lila home, it was all worth it. Bringing Lila home wasn’t just a change in our lives—it was a transformation.
Tom and I became a team, determined to make her feel loved. We adapted the house to suit her needs. Tom spent an entire weekend installing textured paths along the floors, tiny ridges that would help her navigate the space independently.
“This way, she’ll know the difference between the hallway and the kitchen,” he explained, wiping sweat from his brow as he worked. We added voice-activated lights, labeled every cabinet with braille, and filled the shelves with audiobooks. Lila’s room became a dreamland—a cozy haven with soft, colorful textures and a bed adorned with Paw Patrol bedding.
But the real magic happened outside the house. Every weekend, we took her on what we called “imagination adventures.” We visited beaches, forests, and even amusement parks. Tom and I would describe everything in vivid detail.
One of Lila’s favorite outings was to the bird sanctuary. Early in the morning, we’d sit on a bench and listen to the symphony of chirps and tweets. “That’s a cardinal,” Tom would say, his voice full of wonder.
“Its feathers are bright red, like the sound of a siren.” Lila would smile, tilting her head as if she could picture it. One afternoon as we sat in the park, Lila nestled between Tom and me, she reached for my hand. Her tiny fingers squeezed mine, and she tilted her face upward with that radiant smile of hers.
“Mommy,” she said softly, “thank you for finding me. I knew you would.”
Her words hit me. Tears spilled from my eyes as I choked out, “Oh, Lila…” I tried to hold it together, but I couldn’t.
Tom reached over, pulling both of us into a hug, his own tears glistening. “You found us, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking. Lila giggled, her hands brushing our tear-streaked faces.
“You guys sniffle so loud!”
We all laughed through our tears, the warmth of that moment wrapping around us like a blanket. So yeah, sometimes, late at night, I still catch Tom sneaking to the basement. But now, it’s just love in action.
Source: amomama
